


the colour only we know

by dotdotmoon



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Court Dancers, Dancing, Everyone Is Gay, Historical Fantasy, M/M, Weddings, no cisheterosexism. it's fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:41:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26089594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dotdotmoon/pseuds/dotdotmoon
Summary: Only a lovers' last dance can bless the queen and crown princess with child—only a dance that leaves lovers and love alive.
Relationships: Kim Junmyeon | Suho/Kim Minseok | Xiumin
Comments: 5
Kudos: 18
Collections: Challenge #6 — Rise of Kingdoms





	the colour only we know

**Author's Note:**

> this was highly experimental for me, writing about dancing is the hardest. please excuse the vagueness of it all ;;;
> 
> title just as vaguely taken from suho’s “o2”

They bow, silent, in the silks of tradition, until the drum sounds; they bow deeper into the first stroke of the gong to rise with the second, the third, into light. They move against each other like reeds, bent tender by birdsong, by rain and wind, move and still and move to the drums, the gong, like a breeze's heartbeat, like a sea rising to the moon.

It's a ritual; a dance to awaken the blessings of land, water and sky; a prayer to lift the veil between life and demise, for the ancestors' light. Only a lovers' last dance can bless the queen and crown princess with child—only a dance that leaves lovers and love alive.

As the gong echoes through his mind, as Minseok bends in his arms—every of his shifts a wave, every of his moves a current pulling him under, into his precise grace, into his heat.

As eyes rest on them through the screen, Junmyeon's body bows to them, with effort, with practise, with praise; as his body bows it sings a prayer not his own; sweet in his blood, sour in his sweat, sharp in his bones.

Their gazes touch, graze like fingertips, cut by the masks, in a prayer wholly theirs, unspoken, unsung, unprayed. This, they can’t have. This, they can’t take.

The drums quiet down and they still, for Junmyeon’s hand to bare one of Minseok's shoulders as Minseok tilts, leans—just before the gong catches, scatters them apart—this moment, it feels like a dull summer night, a dim star burning brighter, made of their dreams.

Junmyeon bows, to tradition, to desire not his, bows behind the mask, in the corral of light and screen. He bows to the queen as Minseok bows to the crown princess, and together they bow to their union, the string tying them, relieving the distance between them. They bow, pliant and supple, pleading and lauding, to the ancestors, to guide a child to them. They bow to expectation, to amusement, on command; they bow, for lasting warmth and comfort, for the _after_ that awaits them.

Minseok moves, all water, a ripple in their dance, ebbs out of Junmyeon's arms, leaves him to breathe with the slowing drum beat. Junmyeon sinks, unfolds into a full moon as the music swells while Minseok spreads into a bird, widening wings a gentle call—for fidelity and prosperity, for the comfort of light and the mercy of shade—until Junmyeon rises behind him, melts their shadows into one.

They spin into a distant embrace, bow into a kiss of shadows on the screen, and Minseok closes his eyes briefly as Junmyeon guides him away, into a farewell.

Junmyeon sinks again, onto his knees, waits for the fingertips at his temples, drawing alien paths down his face, neck, shoulders along skin dewed with sweat, to gather his hands in his, drawing them up into another moon, a moonrise—to split and part again, into two pairs of wings.

They still along with the gong, hold, through the thudding solace of a drum beat, until their arms strain with hurt; they hold through the choir of whispers veiling the words shared between the brides, faint, not theirs to hear.

The envy brims, spills, taints.

There's little in the world that's his, and he has no claim to Minseok, desires no claim to him, not like the queen has to the crown princess—he owns no claim like the royal court has to them and their lives, to the end of them tonight.  
What's Junmyeon’s is a tenuous promise of wealth, bestowed on them by the throne—useless without the firm promise told against his cheek, a promise of love for today, for a tentative tomorrow.

When the drums slow, Minseok rises, brushes past, a tender flood sweeping Junmyeon up into a last flight only to shed their wings, another rush to the floor to turn into halves, unite into one—a moon, blooming into fullness—again.

They bow their heads, to the song slowly rising from the other side of the screen; the shaman’s voice dark, oozing, bewitching.

With his head bowed, Junmyeon feels a sigh against his shoulder, its heat breaking the silence between their bodies, turning his bloodbeat electric with trust and sorrow, breaking his heart with elation and grief. For a moment, their chests rise at the same time as they take breaths as deep as a sea.

This—it was their last dance, under this reign.

They bow, to duty, to the silent appreciation. They bow, until the room empties of the thundering chants, of soft footsteps.

They bow, but Junmyeon bows deepest to Minseok's heart only.

**Author's Note:**

> the music described in this was loosely inspired by jongin's olympics performance. the birds alluded to are wild geese. 
> 
> ty for indulging me and my main dancer minseok agenda.  
> but even more so, thank you for reading!! please do let me know if you liked it


End file.
